Vandalism On Eternity, A Sheogorath Story
by INTIMIDATOR13
Summary: Join the Victory or Sovngarde crew on another idiotic romp through time and space as Sheogorath vandalizes an Elder Scroll and destroys the fabric of reality.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Not Enough Butter**

A breeze from the nearby window ruffled the stack of papers on the desk of Plottus Devicus as he vainly tried to finish sorting recent tax reports. Being a secretary for the Emperor had not been the job that he'd dreamt it would be. Even now, long after the White-Gold Concordat, the Empire's finances were in a mess. It would take years to sort all of the damage out.

"How droll," he mused, wistfully looking out his window on the third floor of the White-Gold Tower. His job sucked. He almost missed the war. He just wished something exciting would happen again. Almost anything would be preferable to the soul-crushing boredom of being an administrative slave. If only he hadn't lost both of his thumbs in the war, he could hold a sword correctly and go back to the Legion. How he held a quill correctly with no thumbs was anyone's guess. A loud clatter awoke Plottus from his musings. A old man, robed in humble rags, burst through the office door and started waving his arms about madly.

"Malacath's balls, who keeps letting the homeless in here?"

"I'm not homeless, you prick! I need to see the Emperor, right now!"

"Sure you do. I bet Sheogorath sent you with a very important message that he must hear right now. The Emperor isn't even here right now, so shoo. The guards will show you out."

"Listen, you idiot! Tamriel's security is at stake! I'm not homeless or crazy, I'm one of the monks who works with the Elder Scrolls."

Plottus frowned. He'd totally forgotten that the Elder Scroll people worked on the other side of the hallway. They kept to themselves, usually, so he tended to ignore them. Of course, if they actually had something important to say, it could change the course of history. Seeing the future was a tool that the Emperor definitely would want to use. Turning away a real prophecy would be bad for Plottus' job security.

"Right. Sorry. I forgot that you guys worked next door. What seems to be the problem?"

"Look!" The monk pulled out a large scroll, one that Plottus instantly recognized as one the real Elder Scrolls. The desk clerk quickly shielded his eyes with his hands, wanting to avoid the negative effects of gazing upon a piece of eternity.

"Whoa, whoa! Put that thing up! I already lost my thumbs for the Empire, so I think I'll keep my eyesight!"

"It's fine. Just look!" Plottus slowly lowered his hands and gazed upon the now open scroll. He'd heard about the Elder Scrolls and the information that they held. He expected limitless knowledge, the secrets of the ancients, or maybe some kind of magical formula. If nothing else, he'd figured the parchment would at least glow. What he found was significantly less prophetic and significantly more disturbing.

"Is that…a smiling stick-figure man kicking another stick-figure man in the crotch?" The image then began moving, the offending leg racing back and forth at high speed in order to deliver poorly drawn crotch-destruction over and over again.

"Dear gods, you saw it too. Now look in the bottom left corner." Plottus shifted his eyes and saw something that made his heart sank. There, in rainbow colored letters, was a message. Plottus read it, mouthing the words aloud.

"Malacath stinks. Sheogorath was here…"

"Do you realize what this means?"

"My gods…"

**Meanwhile, On the Trail to the Top of the "Throat of the World"**

The hero of Skyrim enjoyed the chilly breeze as he hiked his way towards High Hrothgar, home of the Greybeards. He had made very same journey before, almost a year previously. He had changed so much since those early days. His long black hair had grown even longer, and his already thick beard had overtaken most of his face. His gear was much better than at the beginning of his adventuring career, as he now wore his very own custom-made heavy armor, forged from the mighty magical ice called Stalhrim. The armor was positively awash in the enchantments he'd chosen, as were the two mighty blades at his side, both made of the same mystical substance as the armor. He was truly an imposing sight, the epitome of the Nord warrior ethos. From the arsenal of spells at his command(admittedly an oddity amongst his people) to the flurry of sword mastery that he was liable to unleash, he was a raging berserker, capable of hitting an exposed flank and carving his way through a whole army.

His name was "Jack the Bastard", as he never had a father. He'd more or less left that name behind, however, as most people now simply called him "Dragonborn." He bore the body of a man, yet the soul of a dragon, and fate had seen fit to throw him into the midst of world-shaking events throughout the past year. Not only had he slain many dragons, he had ventured beyond the realms of death to the great halls of Sovngarde, where he struck down the once-feared "World-Eater", Alduin, saving the world in the process. After that, he'd done much more adventuring, such as joining Whiterun's famous Companions adventurer guild, shutting down a dangerous magical artifact in the Eye of Magnus, ending Skyrim's civil war in favor of the native Stormcloaks, and even fighting off an army of vampires alongside the recently resurrected Dawnguard!

Now however, a new adventure seemed to await. The Greybeards had summoned him, calling out to him with their powerful Thu'um, much as they had at the beginning of his adventure. The Greybeards were typically a reclusive sort, so whenever they reached out, it tended to be wildly important. It was their training that had recently set the Dragonborn of the path to defeating Alduin, after all. With a mixture of trepidation and excitement, Jack continued up the mountain. He thought that he wouldn't bump into any life, save for perhaps the odd roaming troll, until he reached the monastery, but, much to his surprise, he bumped into another man about halfway up the mountain trail. It was an Imperial, wearing the full regalia that would mark him as a Legate in the Empire's great legions. A little irritated at the intrusion, especially of one of his most recent enemies, Jack called out to the man.

"Imperial, identify yourself! I thought we kicked your kind out of Skyrim a few months back! Are you lost? Did you not hear about the peace accords? The Legion is not welcome here!" The Cyrodillic juggernaut slowly turned about, drawing his gladius and shield.

"That sounds a lot like treason, citizen. I could kill you, but I don't have time for another deluded barbarian. Get out of here. The Greybeards have summoned me for Dragonborn business." Jack briefly looked upon the Imperial with disbelief before laughing heartily.

"Oh, that's funny. I thought you said you were here on "Dragonborn business". The only man with "Dragonborn business" is me. Are you touched in the head? You must be, wearing that armor in such hostile territory.

"Hostile territory? You're the one touched in the head. I helped crush the Stormcloak rebellion months ago. Furthermore, of course I have Dragonborn business! I'm the bloody Dragonborn!" Jack was now legitimately confused. He couldn't see the Imperial's face, as it was covered by the steel visor of a Legion cavalry helmet, but the sound of his voice at least seemed honest. It didn't seem like the stranger was lying. Now, Jack had been accused of being "Blessed by Sheogorath" after certain acts in the past, but this guy was a whole new level of crazy.

"No. I led the Stormcloak rebellion to total victory months ago. You're not the Dragonborn. I'm the Dragonborn."

"You're not the Dragonborn. You're a towel. I'm the Dragonborn." Jack was a little irritated at the towel comment. Even if this guy was crazy, it was no excuse for blatant rudeness.

"No, you're a towel."

"You're a towel."

"No, crazy man, *you're* a towel.

"I don't think you're hearing me correctly. You don't understand. You can't be the Dragonborn because I'm the Dragonborn. You, sir, are a towel." The towel exchange continued for about an hour before both parties finally reached their breaking point and the rage flowed over.

"Look, Imperial, I'll show you. Go stand by that ledge. Fus…" The angry Imperial stranger didn't miss a beat, sucking in a deep breath before preparing his own counter shout.

"Roh…"

"Dah!" Both parties unleashed equally powerful Thu'ums, resulting in a explosive clash of magic that hurtled both men backwards. Fortunately, neither side flew off the ledge of the mountain, simply slamming harmlessly into snow piles.

"By the Nine…"

"By the Eight…"

Both men lay flat on their backs, confused as to what in the name of all that was holy could be going on. While it was possible for anyone to learn to wield the Thu'um, it often took a lifetime of training to use even a single part of a shout. Both men had just used full-on shouts, surprising one another with their shared power.

"Okay," Jack called out, still staring at the sky, "maybe you're also a Dragonborn. There was never anything saying that there couldn't be multiple Dragonborns at once. After all, look at the old Septim dynasty. Why are you just showing up now, though? I could have used your help against Alduin."

"I could ask you the same thing," the stranger replied, dragging himself to his feet. "I killed Alduin solo a while back too."

"That doesn't make any sense. How could both of us have killed the same doom-beast without knowing about each other? Another thing, you said the Legion won. They totally didn't."

"Yes they did."

"No, they didn't."

"You're a towel."

"Please don't start that again."

The immature verbal towel fight that was about to follow was stopped before it began by a new threat to both parties. A terrified man came sprinting up the mountain path, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Oh, Talos save us! They're everywhere!"

"Calm down, brother Nord," Jack began, greeting the newcomer. "I'm the Dragonborn. I can protect you from whatever problems you have."

"What are you talking about? The Dragonborn is an Argonian, you idiot!"

"A third?" the Imperial queried, rubbing his armored chin. "This just keeps getting stranger and stranger."

"Just get out of the way!" A distant rumbling seemed to creep closer. "Oh, gods, they're here!" The man ran further up the path, leaving the two Dragonborns to face whatever foe was approaching.

"I don't know what's going, Imperial, but let's do what Dragonborns do best, kill random things and save the world. Truce?"

"Truce. Name's Legate Biggus Dickus."

"I'm Jack, the bastard."

"Well, Jack the bastard, good luck." The ground shook as the new threat drew in closer. The Dragonborn duo would hear their foe long before they could see it. Numberless angry voices rang out, screaming their rage for all to hear.

"Aw, shit!"

"Dammit!"

"Fuck!"

"Why not Zoidberg? Wub, wub, wub, wub, wub!"

"Piss! Piss in my ass!"

"Bastards!"

The enemy horde finally crested the hill, revealing themselves to be enraged mud crabs.

"Are those…mud crabs?" Jack asked rhetorically, unable to believe what his eyes were telling him.

"Swearing mud crabs?" Biggus echoed, his metal face mask hiding how far his jaw had dropped. A particularly large crab in the front of the pack raised one claw in the air before pointing it dramatically forward, as if to instruct his fellow crabs to charge forward once more.

"Fucking balls!" it screamed, it's strange little mouth thingy dripping with blood.

"I think I preferred Alduin."

"At least he was polite."

"Fuck you, Baltimore!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Now You Fucked Up**

The Dovahkiin duo unleashed their fury on the mud crab horde, each bringing their own fighting style to the murder party. Jack favored a volley of explosive spells, followed by lighting himself with a lightning cloak and spinning about like a top with his blades. Where his partner brought psychotic bloodlust to the table, Biggus brought discipline and focus. His great shield held firm against his many crabby foes, and his gladius brought death in the Emperor's name. The mud crabs fell in droves, though they never did break. They just kept coming.

"Stupid shit!"

"Fuck! Fuck!"

"Cocksuckers!"

"I swear to Talos, we've killed a hundred of these things," noted Jack, getting irritated at the numberless hordes.

"This is really getting old."

"I think I'm good to shout again. Why don't we cause a landslide?"

"That sounds incredibly dangerous. I don't know if the Thu'um should be misused like-" A mud crab threw a rock, smacking the Legate in the faceguard, giving him quite a headache. "Okay, fuck these guys." The angry duo released their fury. Visible shockwaves flew forth towards the mountain side, dislodging an avalanche of snow and rocks. It pummeled the horde of mud crabs, pushing some of off of the cliff and outright burying others. A blessed silence fell over the mountain. The immediate danger had passed.

"Well, that was different. Shall we move on to High Hrothgar? Perhaps the Greybeards will have some answers for us."

"Yes, I would like to get out of here before anyone else talks about my mother like that again."

"That was just absurd. No woman should be able to do that with a ladder."

The beleaguered protagonists proceeded onward, both baffled as to what was going on. The trip up the mountain was rather long, so Jack eventually decided to make small talk.

"So, uh, got any family? Other than your mother, who is probably dead if she even attempted that trick with the ladder."

"No, mother died a long time ago, and thank Akatosh she never tried to use a ladder in such a way. Please stop mentioning it."

"Okay, but the question still stands. Do you have any folks?"

"I'm actually married to a woman from Riften."

"No way! I'm dating a woman from Riften! Who's your waifu?"

"Mjoll the Lioness."

There was a moment of akward silence.

"I'm dating Mjoll the Lioness."

"That whore!"

"Hey, watch your mouth! She's a nice lady!"

"A nice lady who cheats on her husband! With a Stormcloak, no less!"

"I'm not exactly thrilled about her banging an Imperial either. You lowlanders have diseases. I'd be worried if I wasn't a werewolf."

"Ah, the smelly man is actually an animal, what a surprise!"

"Just because we made a truce doesn't mean I won't violate it and throw your shiny ass off of this mountain."

"I'd like to see you try, barbarian."

"Oh, it is on, you fascist piece of-"

Jack's taunting was interrupted by a low sound, just at the edge of hearing.

"Macho madness, ooh, yeah."

"What, mud crab got your tongue?"

"Shut it! Listen! Something is out there. I hear a voice, as well as some odd swooshing sounds. I think it's a dragon!"

"I think I hear it too."

"Macho man is a-coming!"

"It's getting closer!"

Suddenly, the beast was upon them. A disturbing, chicken winged monstrosity, bearing the manly visage of a treasured WWF superstar, appeared, sunglasses and all. It even bore one of the Macho Man's spectacular hats, this one shades of pink and gold.

"Yeah!" it screamed, unleashing a torrent of flame upon the unsuspecting Dovahkiin. The two both dodge rolled out of the way of the fire, barely avoiding a crispy death.

"What in Oblivion is that?"

"Cus' I'm wild, yeah!" The Macho dragon was joined by several clones, all bearing the same, ridiculous attire.

"I'm gonna getcha!"

"Macho Man is coming for ya!"

"Run, Biggus! We'll head for the monastery and try to fight them there!"

The Dovahkiin both made a run for it, fire and testosterone trailing them every step of the way. They were only a short distance away from High Hrothgar. If they could just reach the sturdy walls, then they could regroup in safety. Unfortunately, fate would see fit to throw one more horde of obstacles in their way. All along their path, our heroes noticed a tune upon the winds, one that seemed to grow louder and more obnoxious the further up that they went. Upon finally turning around the last bend and laying eyes upon the monastery, they finally saw where the horrendous singing was coming from. There was a veritable army of frost trolls at the gates of High Hrothgar, all singing the same horrible tune. The beasts were even more ugly than usual, their faces apparently painted over in some twisted caricature of a smug, smiling human. A tall Argonian, wearing black leather armor could be seen at the door to the building, smacking back wave after wave of singing monsters with dual maces. Behind him was a High Elf, rapidly shooting arrow after arrow into the crowd with surprising precision. The Elf's shots, despite being incredibly lethal, were incredibly laughable because they were each accompanied by a rather pathetic "Pew" sound that could somehow be heard over the cacophony of trolls.

"You!" the Argonian called out. "Other, Dovahkiin, get in here!"

"Other Dovahkii-"

` "Just shut up and come on!"

"Dig it!" came the sound of a new shout from behind. Jack barely dodged out of the way of a deadly airborne Slim Jim explosion which killed half of the trolls and shook the mountain. Needless to say, he didn't feel like sticking around for the next volley. The duo hurriedly pushed their way through the crowd, stabbing trolls where needed, until they made it to the great stone doors of the monastery.

"That's the last two! Help me shut this door!" yelled the High Elf as he pulled the Argonian back inside. All four adventurers helped slam the door the shut, before breathing a collective sigh of relief. The horrible singing continued outside, but the noise was at least muffled. A Greybeard stepped forward, addressing the gathered heroes.

"We must speak quickly! You're probably wondering what is going on, and why all four of you are the Dragonborn. You all seem to have gone on similar quests and accomplished similar achievements. All four of you have seperately faced Alduin and defeated him, but we all know that he has only been defeated once, by a Breton, no less. It would appear that the very fabric of reality is collapsing and people from divergent timelines are beginning to cross over between worlds. But, even more troubling than that are the strange monsters that have appeared."

"Yeah," the Altmer interrupted, "and my bow is broken. It keeps going "Pew, pew" every time I shoot."

"Yes, that is also a problem. Something terrible must have changed for this all to happen. In order to get to the bottom of this, I need you heroes to-"

The Greybeard's speech was abruptly cut short as he was crushed by the collapsing ceiling and the Macho Dragon that had burst through it.

"Snap into a Slim Jim!"


End file.
